Freddy Ballgame
by nitrolead
Summary: Even though Alfred has been crushing on Natalia for years, he doesn't know whether he'll be able to last through all of the nine innings that make up America's pastime. He probably should've taken her to a soccer game. Much shorter. AmericaxBelarus
1. Pregame Show

A/N: I looove baseball. And I also like this pairing. So I thought to myself, why not?

* * *

**Pregame Show**

"Umm… so, do you know how to play baseball?" Asked an insecure Alfred E. Jones to the woman standing to his right. The woman with the platinum blonde hair ignored him as the pair walked down the cement stairs to their seating section. Alfred was stopped by the usher briefly when she asked to see his tickets.

"Ehh…" Alfred sweat dropped when he saw that his hands were full carrying enough food to feed a family of four. He couldn't bother the lady to reach into his pocket as she had a hair full of white and was wearing glasses with thickness that rivaled the bottom of old Coke bottles.

"That's alright sonny," the old lady patted his forearm, "Your girlfriend here can just hand them to me, no?"

Alfred sucked his breath when he felt his companion's eyes boring a hole through his jugular vein.

Strange.

Even when she was wishing harm on another person, she made sure to go for something anatomically valuable for survival.

"Nattie's not my girlfriend, ma'am," Alfred cleared his throat in embarrassment.

_Not to say it wouldn't be nice if she were… _

The boyish grin on his face was gone the moment he felt a pinch near his elbow.

"She's an…" Alfred racked his brains for an appropriate word to describe what many others termed the bat-shit insane former Soviet country, "She's an _acquaintance_ of mine."

"Oh!" The old lady nodded and let them through without checking the tickets, "Enjoy you game, sir, ma'am."

Alfred nodded as they continued down the stairs, "Hey, help me look for- oh there it is." The couple walked through the rows of chairs as the sound system came to life to announce the probable pitchers and give a recap of the home team's previous game.

As Alfred settled the boxes of food around his seating area to provide ease of access, he noticed his "date" left an open seat between them even though their tickets said they ought to be seating side by side. The woman crossed her arms and legs as she busied herself watching the grounds crew being careful to not step on the powdered left and right field lines as they rolled up the giant hose.

Seated in his chair, the American slouched so that his knees were clear over the seat to the front of him.

This wasn't going the way he had planned.

Then again, most plans, scratch that, ALL plans concerning Natalia Arlovskaya involved keeping one eye on her dress at all times in case she decided to pull out a dagger while talking to her brother. Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his bleacher seat, careful to balance the small box that held two large cokes, nachos, pretzels, hotdogs and popcorn. He looked at the large digital clock displayed on the jumbotron and noticed the announcer was only getting around to reading out the starting lineups for each team.

"This is gonna be a looong game," Alfred groaned.

"What was that, Jones?"

The American jumped. _Holy shit!_

"Nothing, nothing," Alfred raised both his hands up to keep Natalia grounded. The Belarusian gave him a glare for a warning and returned to staring at the dancing presidential mascot.

Crisis averted, Alfred returned to his own ruminations. When it is all said and done, it's thanks to Mexico that he was currently sitting less than an arm's length away from the object of his affection. The man had snuck into his house for the 27th time this year and sometime between stealing several rolls of his scented toilet paper and ordering a season package of European soccer through his satellite service, Alejandro had laid eyes upon the world map in his study. There wasn't much left to the imagination when Belarus had a large, red heart drawn with marker encircling her borders.

Next thing he knows, Ivan corners him at the U.N. after a Security Council meeting and demands that the American take responsibility for the rumors concerning his family. Alfred had a suspicion Ivan was taking advantage of his crush on his sister to get rid of her for the weekend. This only made him wonder why the Russian hadn't let Toris take Natalia out when it was obvious to everyone and their mother that the Lithuanian liked her enough to get her name tattooed on his ass.

True story, actually.

"Erm." Alfred shot a hand into his army satchel and grabbed a plastic bag, "Peanuts?"

Natalia signaled that she didn't want any by simply turning away.

Alfred sighed and passed his "date" her half of the food without asking if she wanted it. Despite the death looks she was sending his way, he ignored them as he piled her lap with her portion of the food. In the meantime, he busied himself until the start of the game munching on a pretzel and using the binoculars dangling from his neck to spy on the crowd. He scanned the rows of bleachers and spotted a lady over on row D, section 134 with a nice rack. If only she would turn a little to the…

"Bingo." Alfred's eyes widened, his grin increasing by the second. _No bra!_

It appeared that the woman in row D, section 134 had gotten into the wrong area judging by what appeared to be her boyfriend pointing towards a row much closer to the field. The woman nodded and she descended the rows of stairs one by one…

"_Jiggle effect_," Alfred whispered to himself.

"What are you doing?"

The American fumbled his binoculars and accidentally banged them on the lens of his glasses, but not before the pretzel he had been eating fell to the floor. He groaned at the sight of mustard on his jeans and quickly dove for the doughy treat.

"You're not going to-" Natalia's question was cut short and answered when Alfred bit into the pretzel as if it hadn't been on the floor collecting God knows what a mere few second ago.

Were Americans that desperate to stuff their faces that they ate food off the floor?

"What?" Alfred replied to her expression, mouth still chewing, "Haffen't you ever hearff of the five-second roolph? Huh?"

* * *

**Terms**

Grounds crew: A team of workers charged with the care of the baseball diamond. They get the field ready before the game. Depending on the level of play and the league, some teams do the work themselves.

Foul lines: These two lines originate at home plate. One line passes through first base while the other goes through third. Both lines extend past the infield into the outfield and end at their respective foul poles. They're referred to as "foul lines" because any ball hit outside of these lines is declared "foul". A ball hit between the two lines is a "fair ball".

Jumbotron: The big ass TV screen that all Major League teams have situated somewhere in, or beyond the outfield bleachers.

Starting lineup: The list of nine players who will start the game. A list is given to the umpire and to the manager of the opposing team. The order of the players' names inidcates the order in which the will bat in.

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A/N: Will everyone please rise and gentlemen remove your hats... man, I love baseball.


	2. First Inning

A/N: So, I make an effort to reply to all the reviews I get and I usually get around to doing so before the next update.

**AmeBela:** Yeah, I love this pairing too. :-D I'm not sure about it being my OTP, but it's definately my second. Thanks for reviewing!

**zaphodiop:** Hey, did you know you have your PM disabled? I tried replying through the reviews page, but I got a no go. Anyhoo, who'd be suprised if Toris had an ass tat? XD As a fan of AlfredxNatalia, it's only fair that I contribute to the fandom by way of a fanfic. Support! :-D Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

**First Inning**

Natalia's scoff was lost over the loudspeaker system as the music stopped and sound was immediately transferred to the announcer's voice.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, we ask that you please stand and gentlemen remove your caps, as we honor this great nation and the men and women who are keeping this country safe with the playing of our National Anthem._"

The American cleared his throat of the pretzel still likely partially lodged in his throat given the velocity with which he had been eating it. The man removed his cap revealing his sloppy set of hair and stood rigid, feet shoulder-length apart. The hat was held firmly over his chest and his frame assumed a stillness expected of a life-long soldier.

Natalia noticed this because, well, the man has a reputation for being on the constant move.

All. The. Time.

Back in the days when Ivan had been at war with the American, she had had to fill in for her brother at a U.N. General Assembly session. At the lunch buffet line that day trying to decide between the ravioli or a falafel, Natalia had overheard the Englishman comment that his former ward defied the laws of physics. Instead of wasting money on the Tevatron particle accelerator, Kirkland suggested the money ought to have been invested in figuring out why Newton's laws of motion did not apply to Jones.

Natalia agreed at the time and still did decades later: perhaps then the American would stop, recollect for a second, and quit making a fool of himself. Towards the end of the lunch break, Natalia was walking through the main lobby and spotted Jones selling Girl Scout cookies between sessions. It could have been an admirable endeavor, serving the community. But it became… _strange _when Alfred E. Jones, world super power, began hassling the delegates into buying cookies while wearing his old Eagle Scout uniform.

Natalia's thought process was cut short when she became aware of the stares she was receiving, some disapproving, a few downright dirty from the fans in the immediate area. Her nature told her to take action, but she honestly couldn't for various reasons.

She stood, somewhat grudgingly, just as the woman down on the playing field was signing about the "bombs bursting in air". One or two stares lingered, but dissipated soon enough when the fireworks lit up the sky.

Natalia thought the affair over with when the crowd finished applauding and made themselves comfortable in their seats, but apparently not. As the stadium cheered to the start of the baseball game, a man who looked to be in his late-thirties and visibly buzzed remained frowning.

"Hey lady," the man said loudly pointing at her with the hand holding a beer cup causing some of it to spill, "didn't your mother teach you some manners? Do the anthem next time, will 'ya?"

Before she got a chance to reply, Natalia's view was immediately blocked by a giant number "56" .

"Is there a problem?"

"Yeah! Your girlfriend didn't do the anthem!"

"Keep it down!" Jones said, raising his voice enough to get it through to the other man that he was being too noisy, "And it's okay. She's foreign!"

"Oh!" The other man blinked, "Well, she coulda just stood up."

Jones shrugged as he stepped to the left to clear her view. The man remained standing and was clearly agitated, but resigned himself to grumbling nonetheless. Natalia was about to ask why he hadn't made it clear to the Beer Man that she wasn't his girlfriend (in this day and age, anyone eavesdropping could have this on the net as fast as their thumbs worked. She wouldn't want this misunderstanding to reach Ivan's ears…) only to get her nose nearly broken by the speed with which Jones raised his arm to point at the Beer Man.

"Hey you!" Jones yelled. "Baldy!"

The Beer Man shot straight up from his chair and turned. "Now who the hell are you calling, 'Baldy'!"

"Nevermind!" Jones waved the complaint away, "Those chili cheese fries! Where'd you get them?"

…

…

… and then, the Beer Man's demeanor immediately changed.

Leave it to the Americans to reconcile their differences when mutual taste in food is discovered.

Jones excitedly informed her that he'd be getting her some of these "chili cheese fries" during something called the "seventh inning stretch". She didn't understand what an inning was, or why there was a stretch in the seventh. Either way, Natalia had another round of overpriced stadium food to look forward to.

On a more pressing note, Natalia couldn't tell what the hell was occuring on the field and having been raised alongside Ivan, she hated to ask for help. But she would have to soon, as she couldn't for the life of her understand this "base ball".

It was clear that there were two teams playing as the confusing scoreboard indicated, but there were three different uniforms on the field: one blue, nine grey, and four black. Could each of the players move wherever they wanted to, or were they confined to their specific area? Apparently, their positions were flexible, as the second batter got what she heard to be an "infield shift" so that there was a huge gap to the left side of the field.

Then... there was the crotch grabbing.

It was unsightly, but the players seemed to all do it regardless of where they were on the field. Was it part of the game? Also, the team sitting on the bench to the side of the field were chewing bubble gum or eating what looked to be sunflower seeds. Natalia knew from other countries that "base ball" was an awfully slow sport.

Yet again, leave it to the Americans to eat when they had free time on their hands. No wonder some of the players on the field looked overweigh-

"HEADS UP!"

Natalia blinked and in a split second, the American went from sitting next to her, to diving in front of her, catching a foul ball and effectively banging his head on an empty bleacher seat.

* * *

**Terms**

Inning: Football and basketball have quarters. Soccer has halves. Baseball has innings. The difference between the sports is that quarters and halves have time constraints whereas innings do not. The team up to bat will keep batting until the team on the field makes the three outs recquired to end their half of the inning. The game continues past the stadard nine innings if by the end of the ninth the score remains tied. Until team scores, the game does not end. Though if for whatever reason the game cannot be continued due to the time or other conditions, the game is postponed by the umpire until a later date when it can be continued.

Seventh inning stretch: After the visiting team is finished batting in their half of the seventh, the time until the home team come to bat is used by fans to stretch, get food, or use the bathroom. "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" is usually sung by the crowd during this period, but I've been to games where "God Bless America" has been played instead.

Scoreboard: The baseball scoreboard is a strange one. You're better off looking at a pic of one then reading my description which would only make it more confusing.

Infield shift: A defensive move taken by the team on the field against a "pull hitter", who is almost always a left-handed batter. The infield, (first baseman, second baseman, third baseman, and shortstop) shift from their normal positions in the field towards the right side of the field. This creates a huge gap on the left side, but the holes on the right side, where a left-handed pull hitter is likely to hit the ball, are all covered in the effor to prevent a hit.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Alfred. XD Review ladies and gents!


	3. Second Inning

A/N: So, I got a review suggesting that I include a list of terms for the baseball terminology that has popped up (pun intended) so far in _Freddy Ballgame_. I went back to the previous two chapters to do so as I've done at the end of the chapter with this one. Well, I hope you enjoy the second inning.

* * *

**Second Inning**

"I'm okay!" Alfred announced to the lingering eyes still on him.

He felt the foul ball firmly secure within his glove as the area above his left eye began to pound. He tried keeping his right eye and hands from twitching as his body was apt to do when something hurt like a bitch.

Alfred could already feel the bruise forming as he forced a grin on his face. The pain momentarily subsided when he caught a group of college-age girls "ooo-ing" at him two rows back, probably impressed at his heroic act. He tested the waters by flashing a wink at them and wouldn't you know it, the women giggled and together, blew five kisses at him.

Alfred "caught" each of them with his free hand and elicited a low volume of laughter from everyone.

"Everyone" not including a clearly peeved Belarusian woman.

The happy American noticed this and plopped down on the seat directly next to her. Alfred would push the limits and wrap a comforting arm around her, but he rather liked keeping the piece of anatomy that distinguished him from the "fairer" sex.

"There's no need to be jealous, Natty," Alfred beamed, "There's a whole lotta me to go around, don'tcha know?"

"Of course, I know," Natalia turned to face him, lips firmly pressed. "That is why you're in the Middle East right now, is it not?"

* * *

The American winced and immediately forced a grin to cover it up, but it noticeably failed. The man shifted in his seat away from her, crossed his arms, and focused his attentions on the game as he clenched his jaw.

Anyone listening in to the last few minutes between the two would have observed that Natalia had pressed a wrong button.

She hated the nature of the American, but that did not necessarily mean that Alfred F. Jones did not interest her. His film industry, for example. It was notorious for churning out movies full of explosions, natural disasters, expensive CG effects, car chases, ect. Frankly, it was a miracle the man was not a deranged pyromaniac and the world was lucky for it.

Another point of interest was the American's demeanor when matters were serious. She remembered in particular, how intimidating the man became in the Security Council during the height of the Cold War when she was allowed to sit in the meetings.

"Vendor!"

Natalia took her eyes from the center fielder awaiting for the ball to come down when she heard the American's voice assume a different tenor. Jones raised an arm to call over the man supporting a large ice box on his head, one hand stabilizing the box and the other gripping on to the hand rail as he made his way up the stairs.

When the vendor got to them, he set the box down and let out a quick breath.

"So, what'll it be today?"

The American lifted two fingers. "Is there a discount for veterans?"

The vendor nodded. "Fifty percent off. Can I see an ID?"

As Jones lifted himself off his seat long enough to retrieve the wallet from his back pocket, he curtly asked Natalia if she wanted a beer without turning to face her.

She really had pressed a wrong button.

Not that it was of any concern to her. Her brother had told Natalia to spend the weekend in the United States while he was off at an undisclosed location. She knew Ivan's plans and whereabouts for the next few days had been kept secret from her for a reason. That said, she considered having Jones as her personal tour guide for the duration of the week a minor sacrifice on her part. Of course, no where had Ivan indicated that she ought to be friendly towards the American.

Natalia could be friendly.

Just the other day, she had walked by the local park and had spotted a family having difficulty getting the piñata to burst open. One leap and several stabs and slashes to the purple dinosaur later, the grass lay covered with its candy innards.

"The man's busy, Natalia," the American deadpanned, "Well? Do want a beer or not?"

She could tell that the vendor had gotten uncomfortable watching the polarity at work between the two. The Belarusian gave no indication if she desired a beverage- she simply sent a glare in the American's direction and returned to watching the game.

Jones grunted as he handed the bills to the vendor and began nursing the first of the bottles.

The silence would have likely continued for the remainder of the game had the American's phone not gone off.

The man muttered "restricted" and excused himself as he left his seat in search of a location far from the noisy crowd.

* * *

"Hello? Who is this?"

Alfred did not normally answer restricted phone calls, but this was an exception: he really needed to get away from that woman even if the call was a short one due to the caller being a machine or a telemarketer.

"EEEY~!"

Alfred pulled the phone away. This had better not be-

"You taking care of my sister?"

He blinked. "Ivan?"

"Who elsh would I be? Nikita Khrushchev?"

"You sound… drunk."

"What if I yam?" Ivan raised his voice, "Well, you taking care of my sister?"

The last comment confirmed his suspicions: the Russian was clearly under the influence. After all, the man in a sober state would not normally ask about his sister's welfare.

He had to raise an eyebrow when he heard Ivan choking on the other end as if he were about to vomit. The Russian was one of the hardest drinkers he knew, and to hear him making retching noises through the phone made him question three things: what the man had drunk, how much, and for how long.

"Ivan-"

"It's not 'Eye-vihn' you stoo~pid American," the Russian drawled, "Did I give you permish… permission to use my name? Did I? No, I did not. I most shertainly did not."

Alfred shook his head. "Ivan, put someone else on the phone."

"Erghgh..."

Some more dry heaving.

The American waited for the phone to be transferred. In the background, he heard the rumbling that is usually created when a gathering is held. Was Ivan in a bar? He wouldn't be surprised if he were.

"EEEY~!"

For the second time, Alfred pulled the phone away, and left it there when the speaker remained loud.

"ALFREDO! COMO ESTAS?"

"Alejandro?" He asked surprised, "What the hell is Ivan doing there?"

"Party!"

Alfred blinked several times. A party? Ivan had been invited to a party? Had hell frozen over and Feliks come out of the closet as being straighter than the distance between two points? Had Vash called it quits and stopped shooting at other countries when they tried to write their names on the Alps in urine? Before he knew it, Lovino would be handing out "Free Hug" tickets at the next world meeting and giving a bagful to the Spaniard. Alfred shook his thoughts away to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"A party for…?"

"For lovers of beer and liquor!"

If Alfred blinked anymore, he'd have to go to the optometrist for uncontrollable squinting. Nonetheless, the Mexican's last outburst explained why Ivan was currently south of the border and why Natalia had not tagged along: it appeared that Alejandro's home had been selected to host this year's "Friends of Booze n' Liquor" gathering.

The group originated when a handful of countries got together to celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall. The participating countries had enjoyed the binge drinking and shenanigans that went down and from there on out, the FBL had met every year in the summer without fail. As far as he knew, membership was by invitation only.

"Hahaha! Listen here, Alfredo!" The sound of Ivan's vomiting was amplified by what he could only attribute to Alejandro holding the phone very, very close to the inebriated Russian, "The fucking guy threw up on Nora's shoes!"

"The hell're you laughing at?"

"_Santa Madre de-_! I thought you were passed out!"

Alfred, much to his own surprise, managed to keep a straight face throughout the entire ordeal. Listening to the Mexican and the Irishwoman's drunken shouting match coupled with Ivan's loud groaning and the start of a garbled song in the background being sung in German, Alfred closed his phone and pretended the last ten minutes of his 400+ year life had not occurred.

* * *

**Terms**

Foul Ball: Any ball NOT hit between the first and third base lines (a.k.a. the foul lines) is foul. Foul balls landing in the stands can be kept by whomever catches it. Though, if a player catches the ball while in foul territory without the ball having touched the ground first, the batter is out.

* * *

A/N: I'd be confused after receiving a call of that sort. XD Please review ladies and gents!


	4. Third Inning

A/N: So it's been a month since I last updated. Will it happen again? I dunno for sure, but I can tell you one thing: _Freddy Ballgame _will be complete by the time the baseball season is over. Yes, I'm including the post-season and the World Series when I say that, meaning that I've got until October to write the remaining innings. When the Fall Classic rolls around and if I'm still not even close to being done, I promise I wont be a smart ass and claim that the baseball season is not over in Japan or in Venezuela... 'coz I don't know when either of their seasons end :-P . Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Third Inning**

Alfred stood third in line at the concession stand awaiting his turn to be attended. In the last minute, the American had come to three decisions: get back at Natalia for her earlier remark, purchase a large Coke, and since he was already there and might as well buy one because he might get hungry later, a candy bar.

He knew his wars in the Middle East were unpopular both at home and abroad and had long gotten used to the negativity, but to hear it from Natalia… it just hurt.

The crush on the Belarusian woman had started out innocently enough. An Interpol meeting years ago had landed on the week before Christmas and the headquarters being in Paris of all places, Francis had felt it necessary to end the current noon session and take an extended recess. The "extended recess" coming in the form of a Secret Santa event that would take place for the remainder of the day, ending when all the delegates met back at headquarters for dinner accompanied with a present for their respective recipient.

Alfred drew Lovino and got the Italian a gaming laptop. His reasoning was: who wouldn't want a gaming laptop? The shopping portion took less than an hour, so he spent the rest of the day at the local water park. When he arrived for dinner hair lighter than usual due to the bleach, he was confronted by a stern Natalia Arlovskaya, who shoved a present into his hands and left without a word. The woman had rounded the corner before Alfred could inform her that she had mistaken him for Matthew.

The box contained a wide array of action DVDs produced by the Belarusian film industry that he found to enjoy very much, even if the budget restraints on some of the movies were clearly evident in some of the scenes. Out of curiosity to see what would happen, Alfred began sending chick flicks to the Belarusian embassy in the capitol whenever she was in town or in the case that she wasn't, he would send the packages to her home across the sea.

At first, it proved difficult keeping himself from eagerly approaching the Belarusian to ask if she had liked any of the movies he had sent her way as she never gave any indication of it. So one day shortly after the Y2K scare began taking up more and more of the media coverage worldwide, Alfred sent her a pretty weird film to watch and the following morning at the breakfast buffet in the hotel they were both staying at, he could've sworn Natalia gave him a strange look.

Then again, Alfred was always getting strange looks.

So, Alfred kept it going. He sent Natalia the first season of a particularly humorous comedy television series and waited out a week or so before he did anything. When the week was up, he mimed out one of the scenes during a WHO meeting and looked for a reaction from the Belarusian woman. What he got in return was the sight of Natalia shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she bit down on her fist.

Alfred smiled at the memory before he was brought back to the present when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's your turn."

Alfred grunted in response as he made his way over to the miserable looking teenager behind the counter.

"What'll it be for today?"

"Hello…" Alfred leaned in slightly to look at the vendor's name tag, which elicited a precautionary step-back on the vendor's part, "… Jasmine. I'd like a large Coke, heavy on the ice. Do you guys sell candy?"

The teenager did not respond. Instead, she looked at him with an inexpressive face.

Alfred stared back.

And she looked at him.

And he looked at her.

And she looked at him.

… and he looked at her.

Jasmine blinked and abruptly resuscitated. "I'm sorry! What did you want again?"

"Large Coke and candy if you've got any."

"Oh yeah! I just spaced out there for a second," the teen apologized as she told him his purchase total, "I'm kinda burnt tonight."

After the transaction was over and Alfred finished giving the stadium more of his money for their overly expensive food, he headed back to his "date" with retribution occupying his mind.

"Operation: Awesome Payback is a-go," Alfred said out loud with a gleam in his eye as he climbed the bleacher steps giving him a panoramic view of the baseball field.

* * *

Natalia assumed her comment had bothered Jones more than he had initially let on. Then again, Americans had a habit of being horribly prideful and she wouldn't be surprised if the man was moping around the stadium, shoulders hunched and grumbling to himself. She only hoped that he hadn't taken enough offense to stop sending her free DVDs through the mail: her collection had increased vastly since then and even better, Ivan occasionally came by to borrow a movie or two.

The team on the field had already made an out, bringing the total to one. The visiting team was on a roll in the third inning, getting two walks, two singles and a double all in a row before "Anderson" popped-up to short.

Natalia was studying the complicated standard method of recording the game's events on a baseball scorecard in the "How To" page featured in the game program when her experienced ears caught the sound of old sneakers running up the steps. Hurriedly, almost like a child's. Without so much as a glance, Jones arrived at their aisle and plopped down on his chair.

So it seemed that the American still had a chip on his shoulder.

Not that Natalia cared. Perhaps now she could concentrate on this boring, snail-paced of a game bearing the name of "America's pastime". Had Jones not already been so presently detached, she probably would have made a comment on how America's pastime had shifted to simply eating and sitting on a sofa for hours on end. That would certainly explain why a few of the players on the field looked overweight. As far as she knew, Babe Ruth himself was a big eater, so Natalia held that as evidence in case Jones decided to personally lead an air raid on her house as vengeance.

The Belarusian woman would've returned to her game program to read some of the articles to practice her English, but she was distracted by the rattling of ice cubes being shaken in a soda-depleted cup. What made it worse was that Jones was slurping the watered-down soda collecting at the bottom of the cup.

"Stop that."

Jones turned to face her for the first time with heightened eyebrows and sporting a confused expression as if he did not know what she was speaking of. Even so, he followed suit when he looked away and returned to watching the game.

At peace, Natalia flipped the next page of her program and began reading the statuses of four up-and-coming ballplayers currently playing in the farm system of the home team. One of them was a nineteen year-old southpaw from Venezuela who grew up pitching for his father's mining team and-

_Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. _

Natalia gripped her program a little harder until the distraction waned.

Where was she… the teenage phenom was discovered at fourteen when a video tape was sent to the local team. A scout attended one of the games and immediately signed the pitcher after he fanned eighteen full-grown men in a 5-0 shutout. Afterwards, the boy was sent-

_Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch._

Natalia crinkled the edges of her program as she quietly seethed. Was Jones not aware that chewing ice cubes was detrimental to one's dental health? The American's teeth were already damaged enough as it is, given that the man lived in a country with long-flourishing soda and sweets industries. The Belarusian took secret pleasure in the cavity fillings and the root canals that the American would undoubtedly have to undergo with the regular eating habits that he kept.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. _

The woman calmly placed the program on her lap and closed her eyes intending to shut out Jones' antics. After a few seconds, she was surprised that it worked and was rather pleased with herself. She didn't think it a bad plan at all to remain in that state for the duration of the game.

_CRUNCH! _

Natalia jerked awake and with lightening speed caught Alfred F. Jones chewing on a candy bar with a light-orange wrapper _very_ near her temple. The Belarusian would've found another way of coping, but the final straw was drawn when her eyes zoned in on her shoulder and discovered crumbs. Worse yet, some had landed on her hair.

Without thinking, she grabbed a plastic knife and lunged at the American's neck.

* * *

_Aww… shitfuck._

* * *

Was no one paying attention? All heads in the stands were facing upwards, following the arching trajectory of a small white ball on its way out of the baseball diamond, unless, of course, the man running ahead of it made a leaping catch against the wall and snabbed a three-run homerun away from the visiting team.

Natalia stared wide-eyed at the American as he grasped at his throat to stop anymore blood from flowing out. Her intention had been to scare the man, not kill him. Had she known the plastic knife would incur that kind of injury, she would have looked for another way of getting back at the American for his annoying behavior.

As Natalia sat frozen in place and Jones slouched over silent due to his damaged vocal chords, it dawned upon her Belarusian mind that her actions would have enormous consequences.

With Alfred F. Jones out of the picture, Ivan and Yao would undoubtedly end the strategic relationship that had been formed with the dissolution of the Soviet Union. After all, what had bound the friendship from the start was their common wariness of the fact that America would be the only superpower for a long time coming.

With that in mind, Natalia pondered who would rise and make a bid to be the new leader of the West to counter Ivan and Yao. What about Kirkland? The Brit was very much past his prime. True, the man had been an uncontested world power for centuries, but that had been a long time ago and the world had changed much since then. It was hard to believe that the American's removal from the world stage would bring this much trouble.

Natalia's ruminations received a dent when she heard muffled giggles that could have only come from one source, except this person was supposed to have severed vocal chords. She turned her and found the American removing both his hands from around his neck. He presented his fists to the Belarusian woman and unclenched them to reveal… ketchup packets.

Six.

Opened.

Ketchup packets.

Her first instinct was to smack away the grin that was slowly forming on his face, perhaps with added force to knock out a tooth or two. Instead, she shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance and disbelief.

To think, that a full grown man with his kind of responsibilities around the world would be willing to smother his neck in ketchup all to play a practical joke.

"You shoulda seen your face!" Jones pointed at her laughing, "Oh man, this is way better than the time-"

As the saying goes, always follow your initial instinct. And that was exactly what Natalia Arlovskaya did.

* * *

A/N: Did anyone catch the Weird Al reference? :-D Anyhoo, looking at the terms I had to define for this chapter made me realize how much slang is used when describing the game to others. It makes the game much more imaginative and descriptive since it was probably the first American sport to reach a wide audience on the radio. With listening being the only way to catch the game, it was up to the commentators to relay what was occuring on the field to the folks at home. I read somewhere in a book that one of the first complaints the fans had when televison broadcasting of games became the norm was the commentators (former radiomen) on tv talked too much. And there's your baseball history lesson for the day. XD Read and review ladies and gents!

* * *

**Terms**

Walk:If the pitcher throws four balls, ("balls" are pitches that are thrown outside of the strike zone, judged by the umpire) the batter gets a walk i.e. the batter takes first base. A walk is also issued if the batter is hit by a pitch.

Single: A hit that yields the touching of first base.

Double: A hit that yields the touching of first and second base in that order.

Baseball score card: Keeping score is complicated. I've never done it, but it sure looks like a pain to do so. Perfect score keeping will tell the entire game's events to the reader.

"Southpaw": A slang term for a left-handed pitcher. Back in the day before night games were possible, baseball diamonds were consructed so that a batter faced east to avoid the rays of the afternoon sun. A lefty pitcher would face west and his picthing arm would thus face south as a result.

Scout: A person who works with a sports team whose job it is to seek out talent.

Shutout:When a pitcher stays in the game for all nine innings without giving up a single run. The pitcher "shut out" the opposing team from getting any runs on the board.

"Fanned": Baseball slang for strikeouts.

"The wall": Refers to the outfield wall separating the playing field from the bleachers. If a ball is hit over it, it is a home run.

Three-run home run: For this to happen, two players must be on base. It doesn't matter which base each is on. If the batter hits a homerun, that alone equals one run. Anyone else on base also equals one run. So, saying that a player "just hit a homerun" isn't revealing a whole lot of information. It's better to say a "solo homerun" (a homerun with no one on base), a "two-run home run" (one player on base). I've rarely heard the term "four-run homerun" be used- when that happens, the term "grand slam" (three players on base) is evoked.

Another way of hitting a homerun is the much, much rarer "inside-the-park homerun". It's such a rare occurrence that there's no slang word for it to my knowledge. This occurs when a batter hits a ball that stays inside the playing field and manages to round all the bases without being tagged out. For this to happen, the batter has to be fast and it usually involves an error or two on the defense's part.


	5. Fourth Inning

A/N: Misfortune has befallen me! What I mean to say is, my glasses broke! :'-( I've got the plastic kind and they snapped at the bridge, which is practically the worst place for a break to happen. For the time being, I've taped them up with masking tape until I find my old pair... I look like a geek. I need me some electrical tape. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I finished writing it without glasses 'coz I was waiting for the glue to dry on the bridge (it failed).

* * *

**Fourth Inning**

Alfred leaned over the front of a sink as he heard the faint cheer of the baseball crowd bounce off the tiles in the men's bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror for a second or two scanning for any zits. None were found, but Alfred noted that he would be needing a shave soon: he had spent the past week cleaning his house from top to bottom in preparation of Natalia's visit. Still leaning, Alfred stuck a hooked finger inside his mouth and pulled it wide open to take a peek inside: his molars were slightly stained with blood.

In truth, the American didn't care much about his discovery- he was too busy moving his open mouth from side to side to get a better view of his silver fillings. Ignoring the stares he was receiving from other men approaching the nearby sinks to wash their hands, Alfred realized that it had been quite some time since he had last seen a dentist.

He canvassed the inside of his cheek with his tongue and felt a sting when he touched upon the wound.

_Natalia sure slaps hard. _

With a sigh, Alfred pulled his finger out of his mouth and reached for the towel dispenser. After dampening several sheets under the faucet to remove the dried ketchup slathered on his neck, the American moved away from the sink and leaned against the bathroom wall.

Had he been hoping for too much of Natalia? The ketchup prank had come straight out of a movie! He could've sworn he had included a DVD copy of _Dumb & Dumber _in one of the many packages he had sent her.

_Could it be… _Alfred (almost) gasped, _Is it possible she doesn't like comedies?_

The American immediately banished the thought. _Perhaps Natalia likes a different brand… like…maybe…British comedy? _

Alfred shivered. He shrugged it off and instead concentrated on the matter at hand.

Natalia had stormed off after she had smacked him straight to next Tuesday. By the time the world stopped spinning before his eyes, partly due to the fact that his glasses were lopsided on his face, she was as good as gone.

The Belarusian wouldn't leave the stadium, that much he knew. Her English wasn't on a high enough level for her to successfully navigate the subway system and the streets back to his house where she was staying for the weekend. But he couldn't go looking for her either: when Natalia Arlovskaya did not want to be found, she won. In fact, Alfred had long held a vague suspicion that the silver-haired woman was a Hide-and-Seek champion.

The American gave a tired sigh.

This outing was supposed to be where he got close to Natalia. At least, close enough to become her friend. Of course, his main goal was to become more than a friend to her, but he thought it wise to not push things too soon. The problem Alfred now faced was Natalia telling her brother about his childish doings once she went back home- at the end of the day, Ivan was still a big brother and in his own way, the Russian had given him permission to "see" his sister.

So, if Alfred couldn't get on Natalia's good side, his chances remained decent if he was on agreeable terms with her older brother.

_A happy Russia is a good Russia. _

Alfred blinked. _Scratch that_. _A happy Russia is a good Russia if I know the reason. _

The American nodded in approval of his reasoning.

To his understanding, Ivan had worked it out so that Natalia would be unable to contact him while he was south of the border, so whatever the Belarusian told her brother would be done _after_ the weekend. But if Alfred pulled enough strings now and in the next few days so that Ivan was in a good enough mood when he heard his sister tell him about the ketchup incident…

A glint appeared in his eye, probably a reflection of the neon light bulb that had gone off in his head.

Alfred quickly reached into his pocket for his cell phone, and dialed "8".

_Pickup-pickup-pickup-pickup-pickup-pickup-pick-_

"_Bueno_?"

"Alex! Hey buddy!"

"Oh, shi-"

-CLICK-

Alfred rolled his eyes and began writing up a text.

_Ey! Pik ^ d ph its impt no, ur nt n trbl. :-(_

He was about to send the message, but realized the recipient would probably not understand it. Restless, he typed up a more legible copy and pressed "send".

Alfred spent the next few seconds staring holes into his phone, waiting for it to vibrate. In the meantime, he looked down at the floor and noticed both his shoes were untied. The American got on one knee and placed the phone between his ear and shoulder so it wouldn't get in the way. Alfred reached for his shoelaces and began humming the little tune Arthur had taught him centuries ago to help him learn how to tie his shoes on his own.

Alfred was busy guiding the rabbit through the loop when his concentration was broken by both the vibration against his neck and "_You're a Grand Old Flag_" blasting near his ear.

He cursed when his phone hit the tiled floor with a loud _CLACK!_ and cursed a second time when he saw the state of his unfinished shoelace. Alfred placed the phone back into the crook of his neck to talk and returned to tying both his shoes.

"Hello? Alex?" _Crisscross…_

"Hi, Alfre~do."

"It's sounds kinda echo-y. Are you in a bathroom?" _Carrot sauce…_

"_Si~."_

_The bunny rapidly shows up… _

"Nora punched me in the- the face, and I had a blackout."

_I grab one ear…_

"So I'm cleaning myshelf up right n~ow."

_I grab the other…_

"Didja know tampons are super _-hic- _absorbent?"

_I knot them both…_

"She gave me one for my n-nose."

_The second not a bother!_

"Nora left it in my shirt pocket. They work pretty-"

"Huh?"

"They work pretty well _-hic-_."

"What works pretty well?"

"Tampons, Alfredo."

"Whaaaaaat."

"Tampons _-hic- _work pretty well."

"Yeah, I heard that. Why are- you know what, nevermind."

What was it with this guy? One second Alfred is listening to Alejandro talking about getting knocked out by the Irishwoman in their drunken brawl, the next, the Mexican is talking about tampons working "pretty well".

Alfred stroked his chin. _Alex may be onto something here… _

The American briefly made a note to check if dipping tampons into the Gulf of Mexico would soak up any of the stray oil. The note firmly tucked away in his mind for later use, Alfred returned to the matter at hand.

"Alex? You still there?"

"Yesh, I'm here."

"You sound kinda nasal. Must be the phone… Anyway, are you by yourself?"

"… I'm in the baffroom."

"Right. Where's Ivan?"

"Playing foosbol with Berwal~do."

"WAIT. You guys invited Berwald?"

"_-hic- _ye~ah."

"And you guys are getting piss drunk tonight and the entire weekend?"

"Ye~ah."

"Uhhh… aren't you worried that, well… 'ya know…"

"Berwaldo won't."

"…"

"…"

"Alrighty. Ju~st checkin'."

"_-hic-"_

"Whoa, I got way off topic. Okay, no more distractions."

"_-hic-_"

"The thing is, I need your help."

"Your lawn?"

"What? No!"

"Oh, the swimming pool then?"

"No, dammit! I need help with Natalia!"

"Oh…"

"Alex, I need you to make Ivan happy."

"…"

"Take him to Cabo, or Cancun, or something. Anything!"

"That costs money, Alfre~do."

"I know. I'm gonna wire you some funds and don't tell anyone I sent them. Try to get Ivan to stay over until Tuesday at least, 'kay?"

"I have guests too~"

"Right. More funds then."

"What's in it for me~?"

"Aw, come on man! Help a bro out will 'ya?"

"_-hic- _Wazdat saying 'mericans say… lemme dink…"

"Nice guys finish last?"

"Dats de one. Thanks Alfre~do."

"Ugh. Well, what to do you want?"

"Uhhh… _-hic- _I can't dink straight right now. Gimme an IOU."

"Done. But you better not cash it in for something crazy."

"Crazier den wanting to solve global warming wit a gian' hero?"

"It's not crazy. I've got blueprints for it!"

"Eh…okay. I haff to go now."

"Aight. Remember! Make Ivan happy! Happy, I say!"

"_Adios~" _

With that, Alfred ended the phone call. Before he slipped the phone away in his pocket, the American made a call so that a lofty sum would be present in the Mexican's account first thing in the morning ready for use. Now, all that was left was to return to his bleacher seat and hope for the best.

Alfred released a heavy sigh.

_I need a pretzel. _

* * *

A/N: Well waddya know... no baseball glossary for this chapter. R&R Ladies and Gents!


	6. Fifth Inning

A/N: I finished this chapter in about 2.5 days while watching five or six different movies. I'm pretty proud of this chapter and I hoped you like it. Enjoy!

* * *

**Fifth Inning**

Natalia sat in her bleacher seat arms crossed and glaring at the outfielders lobbing baseballs at each other for a quick warm-up to prepare for the coming inning. The silver-haired woman huffed in annoyance: what kind of host was the American to just up and leave her like that? True, Natalia had been the one who had stomped off the moment she had finished slapping Jones. But even so, she had come back ten minutes later after her fury had cooled off only to find the man missing.

Her seething ceased for the time being when her pair of war-trained ears picked up on a familiar sound: old sneakers scraping up against concrete steps. There was only one person she was aware of who had a habit of wearing old items of clothing despite having enough money to buy a new wardrobe every season.

The sound of descending steps ended and changed into hurried shuffles when the sneakers approached her aisle. From the corner of her eye, Natalia saw the American plop down and shift around in the adjoining seat so to face her. Did the man not know that he was encroaching on her personal space? He had neglected to leave an open seat between them.

"Truce?"

The Belarusian woman blinked. _What on Earth is he- _

Before she could even finish the thought, a hand appeared in her line of vision holding a small paper bowl with a plastic spoon placed atop it.

_Ice cream_.

"I was gonna get me a pretzel, but then I saw this ice cream place next to the shop so I thought, why not? Hey," Jones' hand slightly shook the bowl, "are 'ya gonna take it or not?"

Natalia took the bowl reluctantly and peered inside. Strawberry. Not her favorite flavor, but at least it was something she wouldn't mind eating.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I got you strawberry 'coz your brother seems to like it a lot."

The silver-haired woman's eyes narrowed as she placed a spoonful of the creamy treat into her mouth. The American had _expected _her to be back at their bleacher seats, otherwise, why had he bought ice cream for her? It annoyed her to no end how the man had more intelligence than he let on.

Jones laughed. "Ivan doesn't seem like the kind of person to like strawberry ice cream, 'ya know? But he loves the stuff!"

Natalia's curiosity go the better of her. "And you know this how?"

Even Natalia, who had been in the company of the Russian nation for centuries and eaten at the same table was unaware of her brother's preference in ice cream flavors.

The American gave a pleased smile, clearly thinking that her question signified her agreement to his "truce".

"During the Cold War," the man explained as he took a bite out of his Rocky Road flavored ice cream cone, "some of my Caribbean and Central American buddies spied in on Cuba's house, especially when Ivan visited."

Natalia was unimpressed and the American saw this.

"Now, don't get me wrong!" The man waved his hands, "the intelligence reports I got from them were extremely specific! It's not like I care what he chooses to eat!"

The Belarusian lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Rather then be upset at her lack of belief in his words, the American gave a warm smile.

"Now, that's the spirit!" The man flashed her a thumbs up, "We're having a great conversation!"

Natalia fought the need to roll her eyes. She continued savoring her ice cream as she watched the figure on the mound fling a 95mph fastball at the man waiting to clobber it out of the park with a wooden stick. The player in the batters box tracked the trajectory of the white ball before lifting his left foot slightly so that his weight aided the effort to blast the ball as far as he could when the bat in his hands made contact. Instead, the batter's body twisted up like a ribbon. The failed effort was followed by the snapping noise of the ball hitting a leathered mitt.

The American groaned at the miss, but quickly recovered. From what she had learned of the game so far, the play dictated that that had only been the second strike.

"Jones," Natalia began, halfheartedly initiating a conversation as a way of thanking her host for the ice cream and the other food he had bought her. She almost regretted her decision when she saw how giddy the American became at the sight of her being the one to ask a question for a change.

The man held up a hand, "Please, call me Alfred."

Natalia pursed her lips and dug into her mind searching for something, anything to talk about. _Now that I think about it… _"How is it that you keep fit eating the way you do, _Alfred_?"

The Belarusian was inwardly pleased when she saw the man's eyebrows lift skyward in surprise. However, she was unaware of the boyish delight the American had felt at hearing his name being spoken by the woman he had been crushing on for years now. After all, with the American's outgoing demeanor almost always switched on, it was difficult to determine when there was a genuine reason behind it.

"'Ya see, I kinda have to keep fit since I'm deployed abroad every three years or so," Jones began as he worked on the soft parts of his ice cream, "and between tours, I attend training camp, 'ya know, to keep up to speed on things."

"Is that why you are sometimes absent from meetings?" Natalia asked, her interest piqued, "Because you are called to active duty?"

* * *

_She's impressed! _It took an incredible amount of restraint to keep himself from jumping for joy or pumping his fist in victory. _She's impressed! _

"Well?"

"Um…errr…" Alfred failed at hiding his nervousness, "Yeah."

The American was reduced to twiddling his thumbs when Natalia did not offer any new questions to keep the conversation going. Not one to easily accept defeat, especially now that he felt he was on a roll with Natalia, Alfred continued on as if she had.

"I switch branches every so often and use aliases to avoid any questions," he explained, "For example, I was Army Sergeant 'D.W. Jones' during Desert Storm and NATO Senior Airman 'L.S. Jones' in the former Yugoslavia."

Alfred shrugged. "My boss knows that I do this and even encourages it, so it's fine."

The Belarusian woman gave no indication that she had heard him. Alfred hoped he hadn't given off the impression that he liked to brag about where his tours of duty had taken him over the years. Even if he had, the topic of discussion would've ended there as he wasn't comfortable talking about the specifics of his service record.

Alfred began wringing his hands and his fingers suddenly felt antsy. Worried that this would be noticed by Natalia, he did a quick search of his surroundings looking for a familiar red cap. He shot a hand into the air as soon as he spotted a red-hatted woman five rows down. "Vendor!"

Chomping down on an all-beef hotdog a few minutes later and seemingly calmed down, he looked at the occupant of the seat to his right and stopped chewing when he noticed their shoes were touching. Alfred immediately drew back his foot.

Was this proper conduct? Kiku and Matthew were always telling him to be mindful of other people's cultures especially now that the world was getting to be a smaller place. He usually rolled his eyes when they said this… he probably should've paid more attention and read up on the Belarusian societal norms before coming to the ballpark.

Alfred sneaked a peek at the silver-haired woman and found her rummaging though her bag.

"Whatcha looking for?"

Natalia shot him a look that had none-of-your-business written all over it so he bit his tongue and settled for watching her. Of course, he did this out of the corner of his eye while continuing to munch on his hotdog.

Alfred saw her pull a vibrating phone out of the bag and her face light up when she saw the caller ID.

He recognized the language she was speaking into the phone. Alfred understood Russian for the same reason Ivan understood English, but his knowledge of the language was limited to the extent that he couldn't really call himself fluent. He turned his ears off to the conversation as eavesdropping was frowned upon no matter where in the world he was.

Turning his attention to the action on the field that tens of thousands of people all around were watching, his eyes scanned the field to take in the game situation.

_Runners on first and third. One out. Guzman at the plate. Count 2 and 2. _

Alfred was settling his mind into the game when he felt a tap on his shoulder accompanied by a monotone voice.

"Brother wishes to speak to you."

"Huh?"

Natalia shoved the phone into his free hand and crossed her arms, clearly annoyed. With who or what, was the real question.

Shrugging the thought, Alfred raised the phone skeptically.

"Hello?"

"EEEY~!"

"Hi, Ivan."

"Put de phone on speaker! I wanna sister to listen too~!"

The Russian's request had flown in the ear and out the other as Alfred was focused trying to decipher the background noise on Ivan's end. It sounded like a game of karaoke was going on. And they were singing… _ABBA? _

Alfred blinked.

Coupled with the fact that all of the participants were drunk out of their minds _and _continuing to drink their livers into oblivion _and_ that none of the invitees spoke English as their native language, why, WHY would they even try to sing in their inebriated state?

Worlds failed him. Was is a foreign thing? A Swedish thing maybe?

"Ey! Stoo~pid American! I comman' you to honor my request!"

Alfred complied blindly and moved the phone between them. His mind was too numb at the moment to care much that he was touching shoulders with Natalia.

"Sister! Can you hear me? Yesh? Sister?"

"Ivan?"

"Excellent~!"

"Okay, Ivan. We're both listening. So, whaddya want?"

Alfred ignored the glare Natalia was sending him resulting from not being polite enough to her older brother.

"You two weel make wonder~ful babies! Wondeful!"

Alfred's jaw slackened in utter disbelief and met the sight of the horrified expression on Natalia's face.

"I wanna my first nephew -_hic_- to be named Pyotor! And my first niece Yekaterina~! Pyotor and Yekaterina Jones! Nice ring, da?"

Alfred's pulse quickened and his breathing hitched. Natalia, on the other hand, had gone into shock.

"I donno what Aleksandr gave me, but I'm so~ happy! So happy! Bye-bye now!"

-_click_-

…

.

_I'm gonna kill that guy. _

* * *

**Terms**:

_"Runners on first and third. One out. Guzman at the plate. Count two and two_."

"The Count" refers to the number and kinds of pitches that have been thrown to the batter by the pitcher. Facing a new batter, if the pitch is a strike, then the count stands at 0-1. Another strike yields a 0-2 count. A third strike (0-3) and the batter is out. The counts is reset for the next batter and the process begins anew. Incorperating "balls", the count will look different. If the pitcher has thrown two "balls" and one strike, then the count is 2-1. If the count is "full" then the count stands at three balls and two strikes (3-2). In a "full count" situtation, the pitcher has to be careful. If he throws a ball, then it is "ball four" and the batter gets a free pass to first base a.k.a a "walk". If the pitcher throws a strike and the batter swings and misses or simply does not swing, then it is a "strike out" and the batter is out.

The above italicized game situation allows for a lot of possibilities. (1) Guzman could strike out. (2) Guzman could hit a "sacrifice fly" whereby he hits the ball so that it is as far away from the infiled as possible. The runner on third has to wait (with one shoe on the base) until the _moment_ the outfielder catches the ball (Guzman being the second out) before he can make a dash for home. If he leaves any earlier than that, then the player is automatically out (making him the third out and ending the inning). (3) Guzman hits a grounder and a play results where two outs are claimed. One play. Two outs. . the "double play".

I'll leave it at that. There are more potential plays that could happen, but that's enough basball for today.

* * *

A/N: R&R ladies and gents!


	7. Sixth Inning

A/N: Holy crap. I just realized I haven't updated this in forever. It's not like I had writer's block... in fact, the rough draft for this chapter sat unedited in my computer for over a month. I just couldn't find the time to edit it for one reason or another. At times, I just plain forgot about it, that is, until I browsed the Hetalia section of this site. And I do that regularly. So much for saying that I would have "Freddy Ballgame" finished before the World Series. The Giants (grrrr) threw their victory parade weeks ago. Enough talk. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Sixth Inning**

Alfred sat scrunched over his seat, chin resting on his knee and cell phone glued to his temple. He could hear the ringing on the other side, but just barely. The pitcher on the visiting team had beaned the batter and the level of noise had gone up with indignation that followed. Alfred grunted in frustration. He'd be able to hear better is he moved away from the crowd, perhaps to the bathroom... unfortunately, he was unable to do so at the moment.

Alfred pivoted his head and glanced at Natalia.

No red-blooded American hero would leave his damsel-in-distress alone during her time of need... never mind that Natalia hadn't voiced a cry for help. Alfred could tell just by looking at her still figure, wide eyes and agape mouth that the Belarusian woman needed his protection.

Five minutes after Ivan's call and the woman had yet to come to. Now that he thought about it, wouldn't it make more sense if she were Sleeping Beauty? Natalia was definitely a beauty. And for all intents and purposes, she _was _sleeping. Sort of. Which in turn meant...

The gears in his head began to rotate. So if he kissed her...

_Nope. _He immediately shook the thought off. _No way. _

-ring-

-ring-

_The number you have dialed cannot be reached. _

_Bleep!_

"Shit!" Alfred cursed quietly given his present family-friendly surroundings. He closed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket in frustration.

What part of "make Ivan happy" did that idiot not understand? Yes, the Russian _had _sounded happy over the phone... but Alfred just hoped Alejandro hadn't done what he think he did. That would be really bad.

"Dammit, Alex."

Breathing a sigh, Alfred ran a heavy hand down the side of his face. Unfortunately, he couldn't plan his revenge plot against the Mexican just yet and leave Natalia like she was. She needed all his attention at the moment. He reached into his army satchel and pulled out his old pair of pilot shades. The American leaned sideways and carefully placed them on the Belarusian woman to cover up her wide-open eyes.

Finished, Alfred sat back in his seat, body slowly slipping downwards, unaware that everyone else in his section were on their feet cheering the solo homerun that had just been hit. The American crossed his arms and closed his eyes, calculating the damage done and whether anything could be salvaged.

_Pyotor. Yekaterina. _

A loud snort escaped him, remebering Ivan's brief call. What kind of names were those? S ure, they were both "Greats" of Russian history, but that was the problem exactly: they were Russian. Well, maybe not Catherine. She was German or something. If he remembered correctly... which he probably did not.

Now, because America was free and all, the figures in HIS history had no need to attach "Great" to their names, because, put simply, everyone knew how great and awesome they were.

If had to pick, however, he'd go with George, (after Washington, of course) and Jacqueline, because, Alfred thought as his ears got warm, she was really hot.

_Damn straight. _Alfred nodded with certainty. _George and Jacqueline Jones. _

Now _those_ were awesome names.

But he was getting off track. Kids? With Natalia? Jeebus. Alfred wanted to date the woman, not marry her. Besides, he was too young to be thinking about children.

Alfred flinched. True, he was a few centuries old, but he didn't _look_ old, right? Suddenly worried, he made a move to leave his seat and seek the bathroom mirror, but quickly remembered that he needed to keep an eye on Natalia.

_What to do, what to do... _

The American grinned and snapped his fingers. _Of course!_

Alfred jumped from his seat and raced up the flights of stairs, spotted his objective, and maneuvered his way past a series of annoyed fans. He plopped down on a seat and twisted his body around to face the people in the row directly behind him.

"Hiya, there," Alfred flashed his trademark grin as he pushed up his glasses, "You ladies blew me some kisses during the second inning, remember? I just wanted to say hello."

The four college girls were perplexed. He noticed one of them was missing, but that didn't matter.

"Ah, hello," Brunette No.1 said shyly.

Alfred raised his eyebrows. _Foreign student…_

"You aren't from around here, right?"

The woman nodded.

"Wait!" Alfred raised his hands, not having noticed that two of them had jumped in fright at his sudden outburst, "I'm guessing you're from… eastern Europe, no?"

"Don't answer that." Interjected the Red Head, "Who are you anyway?"

Alfred blinked. _Oh right. Let's see… _

"M.S. Jones. My buddies call me Jonesy."

"Miss Jones?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. He got that one a lot. "It's for 'Marvin Sutler'."

"Marvin?" Blondie giggled, "No wonder you go by 'Jonesy'."

Alfred fought the need to roll his eyes again. He really needed to stop letting Tony come up with his aliases. And it wasn't the first time he had done something like this either. Back during Desert Storm when he had been "D.W. Jones", he'd been called "Addams" by his fellow soldiers, all because Tony had given him the middle name "Wednesday".

* * *

Natalia jerked. She immediately had her body still, instincts telling her to take in her surroundings before making a move. The trash on the floor to her left, the buzzing of the fans, the brightly lit scenery, the vendor seeking attention... she was still at the ball park. For the moment, all was as it had been before she lost consciousness. Except for two things: her vision was dim and there was no American imbecile sitting next to her.

It did not take her long to figure out that she was wearing sunglasses. Natalia pried them off and folded the pair before tucking them away in her bag. She decided to keep them there until Jones decided to show up, no doubt with food in in one hand and a sugary drink in the other.

The silver-haired woman gazed to her left, eyes on the tunnels connecting the seating area to the concession stands and bathrooms. Natalia zoomed in on each man that exited the opening: some were carrying beers, others food, some were already eating. None of them were Jones.

Natalia gave up and repeated the process with the tunnel to her right and the results were the same. Sitting a little straighter and craning her neck would definately give her a better field of vision, but she would do no such thing.

No. Natalia would give the impression that she was worried.

Even though she was. Not at the American's absence, but at her brother's phone call.

She knew that when Ivan drank, his attitude while inebriated largely depended on his mood before starting to drink. For example, after the Bay of Pigs invasion failed miserably, Ivan threw a party and became a happy drunk. Or, just a year later in the aftermath of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Ivan had spent most of his time stomping outside in the snow while drinking from his vodka bottle. The Russian yelled at the shivering Baltics, telling them that they weren't building the snowmen fast enough. Katyusha and herself had been tasked with placing the coals, carrots, and glasses on each of the snow figures. Apparently, Ivan took pleasure in knocking down snowmen made to look like Alfred F. Jones.

But while talking to her brother, his speech had been beyond excited. Natalia would have left right away to look after him, but she did not know where he was. All she had to go off of were this "Aleksandr" individual Ivan had mentioned. She did not know who this man was, but when she did, she would make him wish he hadn't given her dear brother something to make him say things so foolish.

Natalia shivered. She would have absolutely nothing to do with the propagation of Jones' genes. Just the thought of seeing miniatures of the him running around was enough to send more chills up her spine.

The Belarusian woman banished the upsetting thoughts from her mind. Instead, she glanced to her left and then to her right.

Still no sign of the American.

Natalia stood up and decided to search for a water fountain to quench her thirst. She picked up her bag and glanced around her when she spotted Jones about fifteen rows back. Her war-trained eyes zoned in on the American: tall, glasses, red baseball cap, long-sleeved shirt under a white jersey, jeans.

Alfred F. Jones.

Her eyes narrowed when she noticed that he was talking quite animatedly. No surprise there. The man could talk about anything with an excited tone. A month before, the American had burst into the meeting room interrupting the Brit's speech on environmental policy to announce that he had created the perfect milk shake. Kirkland looked angry enough to choke the American, but with those eyebrows of his, it was hard to tell.

What surprised Natalia, however, was that he was talking to the group of women that had sent kisses his way after he had made a fool of himself going after the foul ball.

Some host he was leaving his guest alone.

Natalia understood the American got bored rather easily, but it unnerved her to see that while she was unconscious, he had decided to pass the time sweet-talking to the band of young females. She was positive that that was what he was presently doing. After all, during the war, she remembered the belligerents, in particular the Brit, complaining how the American soldiers were chasing after his girls.

* * *

"Say," Alfred said looking to change the conversation, "If you guys had to wager, how old would you say I am?"

To get a serious answer, the American reached into his pocket without looking at the value of the bill he pulled out.

"Five bucks fo'da winnah." Alfred faked an auctioneer's accent after seeing Honest Abe's portrait on the green bill he was waiving.

The girls looked at each other for confirmation the man was serious.

"Is this an American game?" Asked Brunette No.2.

"Yeah," Alfred lied, "haven't you seen our game shows?"

The Brunette shook her head.

"Twenty-one," Brunette No.1 quickly answered as she made a swipe for the money.

Alfred was too quick for her, flicking his wrist just in time, leaving the woman grasping at empty air when she finished her motion.

The American wagged his finger as if she had one something naughty. "Yep," he lied, "but first tell me why."

Brunnete No.1 narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed with him. "Because you smell of beer."

Her reasoning took him off guard, just enough time for the woman to successfully pry the bill out of his hand.

"Righty-O!" Alfred turned his Southern charm on as he stood up from the bleacher seat, "Well, I gotta get going."

He winked at the Red Head, who he was pleased to see turn pink. "If any of you lovely young ladies ever want to know the city a little better, I'm your man."

Alfred flashed them a last grin and turned to leave, but the one with the short hair who hadn't said anything up until then piped up. "Which college do you go to?"

Alfred blanched. "Uh, the best one, duh." He quickly recovered.

The Red Head grinned. "Well, so do we. See you around campus?"

"Sure. Yeah."

"What are you studying?"

"Military history."

"Minor?"

"Russian." _Russian?_

Alfred waived his hand looking to end the conversation before he spouted off anymore lies and got himself in a deep hole.

"I gotta go know."

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to keep the girlfriend waiting," Blondie said in a teasing tone.

Natalia?

Alfred removed his baseball cap revealing his messy light-brown hair. He smoothed down his hair as low as they'd go over his temples to cover up his reddening ears. Did he and Natalia really look like a couple?

"Nah, she's not." Alfred waved the assumption off, "Natalia's just the sister of a family friend who's on business, so I'm showing her around."

More lies.

Alfred shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet. He took their silence as his queue to exit. "Well ladies, this is where I depart." The American took his cap off yet again and nodded a bit.

"You're friend looks angry."

He blinked. "Huh?"

Alfred looked at the area down to where Blodie was pointing at.

"Oh."

* * *

**Terms**

"Beaned": When the pitcher "beans" a batter, it means the pitch he threw hit the batter on the head. When this happens, it's left to the umpire's judgement to determine whether the pitch was intentional. If it was, the pitcher is ejected from the game and will probably face some fines. If not, the umpire issues a warning to both teams, primarily to prevent any form of retaliation by the batter's team.

* * *

A/N: R&R ladies and gents!


	8. Seventh Inning

A/N: Huzzah! Baseball season has begun! I realize that I have not updated in a long time, but it was not because I had writer's block- it was actually because I thought it weird to update a fic in the offseason when "Freddy Ballgame" takes place during the baseball season. I actually wrote all of this chapter in one sitting. I have no shortage of ideas for the next chapters, because I had a whole lotta months to mull it over. Well, I hope you enjoy this 7th inning!

* * *

**Seventh Inning**

"So, uh, I saw _The St. Victoria Sisters_." Jones said trying to sound nonchalant, "It, it was good."

Natalia looked up from her game program, slightly annoyed to be reminded that she was presently at a baseball game with the American as her host for the weekend.

"It was a good movie," Jones repeated loudly, perhaps afraid that the Belarusian had not heard given her silence.

"Yes, it was." Natalia responded, feeling like she had to say something to keep the American from continuing to talk. Which backfired, because the man took her response to mean that she wanted to have a conversation. Before she could return to reading her game program, the American had already launched into one straight away.

"It was awesome!" Jones turned on his seat to give her his full attention, which she did not want. "I mean, the Russian subtitles were useful, but not that much, 'coz I'm learning Belarusian, but anyway, nuns!" The man said, genuinely excited, "With fucking guns! Man, it was awesome! The way Sister Anna and Sister Malvina fought off those Nazis with their Degtyaryov machine guns or how Sister Fedosia used her Tokarev SVT-40 to storm the bunker? Remember the part where Mother Superior was sniping from the bell tower during the second act? Yeah? Do 'ya? Oh! The part where Sister Varvara CQCs with Oberst Schneider? The German colonel? When she loses her eye and shit? Man, she looked badass with that eye-patch when she shows up to back up Sister Fedosia to blow up that tank in the third act? Yeah? Oh!" By this point, the American was looking at her with such intensity that she was starting to get weirded out, moreso because he had started cursing. "That scene! That scene that opens up the final act? When each of the sisters steps out of the chapel one by one wearing their black tunics and scapulars? And how they were carrying their guns and army gear over it? That… that is the single most awesomely awesome badass scene I've ever had the honor of watching this year, or last."

Natalia nodded, a little fearful of how the American had become so emotional just from talking about a movie. And what made it all the more strange was that he was talking about a movie her film industry had put out only a few weeks ago. She herself did not think too much of _The St. Victoria Sisters_ because she thought the filmmakers behind the movie had tried too hard to imitate American action movies. Especially telling of this was their ability to find things to explode when the movie took place in a rural area.

"Best foreign movie I've seen all year," the American gazed dreamily into the outfield.

It pleased her to see that he had finally calmed down. Which at the same time was unfortunate, because she wanted to know the reason behind his learning Belarusian.

To her understanding, Jones had a large arsenal of languages within that mind of his, some due to the immigration his country had experienced since its inception, others due to recent events. But nothing to warrant learning Belarusian. If Jones wanted to know about her country, he would be fine with Russian, which she knew that he knew.

"Jones, why are you learning Belarusian?"

* * *

The question startled him. "Huh?"

"Why are you learning Belarusian?"

Alfred stared, seemingly calm. But inside, his brain had gone into high gear. _Why are you learning Belarusian?_ Well, he couldn't give the real answer and say it was because he liked her and wanted to know more about her and her country. Or that he had read some books on her history (in Russian and Polish) or that he practiced his reading skills a few times each week reading Belarusian news on his laptop. Heck, he had even told Alejandro some years back to sneak into the Lithuanian embassy in DC to check out the information Toris had on Natalia. It's not like he could directly ask Toris for it because he knew he liked her and that would be very uncool on his part given the brief bromance they had experienced after WWI.

Now that he thought about it, that was kinda weird.

_Holy crap, am I becoming a creeper? _

His mind raced in a panic, but quickly found peace when he realized that unlike Toris, HE did not have Natalia's name tattooed on his ass. Nonetheless, Alfred didn't want Natalia to be suspicious of him because that would only add on to the load of bad things that had already happened at the baseball game. And it was only the 7th Inning! So, he had no choice but to go with the safe answer.

"I like watching movies."

_Which __is__ true_, he reasoned, proud of his quick mind. _B__ecause__ I do_.

He found it was necessary to give Natalia an answer straight away because not doing so would make her suspicious and he knew she had a habit of being suspicious even at the tiniest thing. Why else would she carry those knives around?

He blinked. _Oh no..._

* * *

Jones had taken too long to reply. And now, she was thought the situation to be fishy.

_So__,__ the American is learning Belarusian. _

Had she learned of this when Jones was at odds with her brother, Natalia would have immediately known the reason behind it. But now that Jones was all over the place due to the "War on Terror", finding a reason was more difficult and that was a matter for concern.

"Natalia," the American addressed her with alarm, "you don't have those knives on you, right?"

Before she could answer, the Belarusian woman was given a reminder of where she was: organ music blasted through the sound system as the crowd around her stood waiting for something.

Suddenly, she was hoisted upwards.

_"Take me out to the ba~ll game..."_

"Jones, let me go."

_"Take me out to the cro~wd..."_

"Jones."

The American's right arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand pressing down on her forearm to keep it clasped against her side while his left hand held on to her to her right. Nothing the American was presently doing looked out of place, as there were other people forming armed chains swinging and singing to the song.

_"Buy me some peanuts and Cra~cker Jacks..."_

She struggled against his hold, but found that she couldn't even make him budge in the slightest.

_"I don't care if I ever get back..."_

Natalia moved to free herself, very much annoyed. Instead, the American tugged her closer as if signaling for her to stop.

_"Let __me root, root, root for the ho~me team..."_

And she did stop her struggle. But only because her clothes were about a centimeter or two from making contact with a mustard stain on the American's jersey.

_"If they don't win it's a shame..."_

To her surprise, Jones loosened his hold on her left hand to raise his arm and pump it at the baseball field.

_"For it's, one! Two! Three! Strikes you're out!"_

The Belarusian had long been trained to take advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves and this was no exception.

_"At the ol'~ ba~ll-"_

The American fell back into his seat clutching his stomach.

"No, I do not have them with me," Natalia answered as she rubbed her elbow and assumed her seat as if nothing had happened, "I am not foolish enough to bring them to a public event."

* * *

Alfred was pissed.

It seemed that in every inning in this game so far, he had found himself trying to figure out how to make this outing something pleasant for Natalia. He wanted her to leave the game with a different image of him, one of a nice guy. Because he _was_ a nice guy. He really was. At least, he thought himself to be.

But he had failed so far. Nattie didn't seem to want to talk to him right now. Had she even wanted to talk to him at all? Most of the time, it was he who had started the small-talk. And that was because he liked to talk. Then again, she did from time to time ask him when the game was going to end. He had responded that one of the things that made baseball so unique is that it has no time limitation like football did, or hockey or basketball. A baseball game could, theoretically, go on forever. He quickly added that baseball games usually lasted around three hours, after Nattie had given him a concerned look.

And now, to make matters worse, Natalia had elbowed him.

In the stomach.

And it fucking hurt.

Had she see not seen how much he had eaten in the game so far? Or the two beer bottles he had bought? He could've thrown up and embarrassed himself! Which brought him back to where he presently was: pissed.

_Dammit_, he thought to himself as he rubbed his stomach, his back to Natalia. _Enough Mr. Nice Guy. If she wants something to be pissed about, I'll give her something to be pissed about_.

* * *

Natalia observed the pitcher on the mound fling the ball at the squatting man (catcher?) and hit the mitt with a loud crack. Strange. Her ears had picked up on the crack lessening in volume as the innings went by.

That was when she noticed the pitcher's hair was curly and sporting a goatee. Where had the other pitcher gone? The one who had been there from the start? It mattered because this pitcher was doing terrible. He had given up a single. And then another. Just now he had given up a home run. Only fifteen minutes ago the home team had been winning but now they were down by a run. The manager was running to the center of the mound and the other members of the team in the infield followed after him. This had happened before: it was meeting of some importance because the players were covering their mouths with their gloves, apparently, to keep the opposing side from reading their lips?

Natalia was sitting too far to be able to read them even if there were no gloves obstructing her view. She looked away and instead watched the jumbo-tron showing a counting game. Crabs were crawling across the screen, sometimes at a slow pace, sometimes quite fast. To her understanding, the objective of the game was to correctly guess the amount of crabs that passed by in the ten seconds that it lasted.

Natalia guessed 42.

* * *

_Damn._ Alfred frowned. _42? I coulda sworn it was 43. _

He shook his said. No, now was not the time to play games, no matter how entertaining they were.

Alfred scratched his head, trying to remember which mini-games the jumbo-tron had used in the game so far. The Crab Count had just been shown. The Weiner Dasch was in the second inning. The Ring Watch in the fourth. That meant the one he was waiting for had yet to come.

Alfred hoped it was this inning, but he doubted it because the 7th inning stretch had already occurred and the Crab Count had just been used to kill time while the manager met with his pitcher. The only way Alfred could see another intermission occurring was if the pitcher gave up more runs and had to be taken out of the game as a result or if someone got injured and the crew behind the jumbo-tron needed to fill in time before the game started going again.

-_Crack!__-_

Alfred had watched and played enough baseball in his life to know that that crack of the bat was a home run just by hearing the sound of wood whipping the ball out of the park_._ Heck, the pitcher knew that as well: he hadn't even bothered to turn around and see where would ball land.

As expected, the manager jogged out of the dugout and pointed to the bullpen- the pitcher was leaving the game. The second relief pitcher was jogging to the pitcher's mound from the bullpen. The new pitcher would have to throw a few pitches to get used to the new mound and to the game situation the previous relief pitcher had left for him. So, the pitcher's warmup called for a few minutes of intermission. And that was just perfect for the-

_There it is_. Alfred grinned at the jumbo-tron.

Now, all he had to hope for was that they'd get picked.

* * *

Natalia shook her head. That pitcher had given in to the pressure. The manager should have taken him out a soon as he had given up the first home run, as his body language revealed the man was under a tremendous amount of stress. Now, they were bringing in a 35 year-old veteran.

Natalia looked for the man's name in her program to look for his game stats to judge for herself why the manager had chosen to bring in this "Griffith Harris" in when there were four other men to choose from. This baseball had so many statistics and she found that they were indeed a useful tool, because numbers never lie and here was this game turning every players' catch, hit, and pitch, into a number.

The sound of roaring laughter took her out of her ruminations. Because she was always interested to find what Americans found amusing, she closed her program and looked around. There was nothing remotely comedic occurring in her section, so she figured that it must be originating from the jumbo-tron.

And what she found there illicited no reaction from her. Other than a simple raising of the eyebrow: there, on screen, was a middle-aged couple sharing a kiss as the woman covered her face in embarrassment. Sometimes, Americans surprised her: they were willing to engage in public displays of affection with tens of thousands of people looking on. Yet, they got angry when a random pedestrian stopped to observe a smooching couple on the street (as her brother had learned). The French, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind (as her brother had also learned).

The camera moved on to an elderly couple, both of which were wearing thick glasses and matching red baseball caps and t-shirts. The woman clapped her hands, clearly amused that they were on the jumbo-tron. She turned and gave her chuckling husband a peck on the cheek.

And then...

There she was.

Long platinum blonde hair tied together between a navy-blue ribbon. Thin pea-green hoodie over a soft red v-neck. ("You can't go to a ballgame without wearing team colors!" Alfred had exclaimed as he pushed her into the team store.)

"Scarlett!"

Natalia turned to her left, baffled why Jones' accent had changed.

"Kiss me, kiss me once?"

Jones flashed an innocent smile, but his eyes said something entirely different. For the second time that night, she was hoisted up, strong arms holding her close.

A few seconds later, Natalia didn't know what to concentrate on: the lewd whistling or the American's lips.

* * *

"Excuse me, ma'am, are you alright?"

Alfred heard the security guard say as he rubbed his cheek aware that everyone was listening in even if it appeared that they were intently watching the game. Because no one watches baseball with that intensity, not when the home team is down by three runs in the bottom of the seventh inning with no one on and two outs.

"Yes, sir. I am fine."

The security guard eyed Alfred. "Are you sure? If this man is bothering you, just say the word and we'll escort him outside the park."

Alfred rolled his eyes as he checked on his bit lip by picking at it. He had watched Babe Ruth hit a homer, Willie Mays make a diving catch, Sandy Koufax throw a no-hitter... it sure wouldn't be the first time he was thrown out of a ballpark. Except that this time, it would be a big deal. Considering he was trying to get on Natalia's good side and it wouldn't do if on their first "date" he ended up getting kicked out of the park because he kissed her... and she biting him and smacking him as a result. Well, that plan had been scrapped the second he had smooched her. But there was still a chance to salvage the situation, right? Good ol' American perseverance would find a way.

"That won't be necessary, sir." Natalia explained as she ran a hand through her hair, "I slapped him only because I was surprised that he kissed me." The Belarusian woman flashed Alfred a look eerily similar to the one he had given her only a few minutes ago.

"Very surprised," she repeated with her thick accent, "considering my friend here is of, how you say," she moved her hand as if searching for the right word, "...homosexual orientation."

Alfred blinked, the pain in his cheek dramatically subsiding. _Say whaaaaa?_

* * *

**Terms: **

Relief Pitcher: A picher relieving the starting pitcher. The starting pitcher is removed for the game either because he was being inneffective, got injured, or for strategic reasons. I've seen games where a pitcher is removed solely because the manager wants to bring in a left-handed relief pitcher to face a left-handed batter. Left-handed batters have less of a chance of getting a hit off a lefty, because lefty picthers aren't that common wheras right-handed ones are the norm.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I've been to baseball games where they play the "kissing game" on the jumbo-tron. And it's kind of fun watching all the couples be embarrased before they kiss. Peer pressure FTW. XD R&R ladies and gents!


	9. Eighth Inning

A/N: Hey! I noticed that I haven't explained the origin of the fic's title and given that it's already the eighth inning, better late than never, no? Anyhow, when I started writing this fic, I did so without a working title, but when it came to publishing it, I realized I didn't have one. :-P So, I scoured my head and eventually came upon Ted Williams, Hall of Fame leftfielder for the Boston Red Sox and the last baseball player to have acquired a .400 batting average (having done so in 1941). Williams got many nicknames during his 20-some year career in Boston, among them "Teddy Ballgame." So that's the story. Well, I hope you enjoy this inning!

* * *

**Eighth Inning **

Alfred wanted to slap both hands to his cheeks and let out a girlish scream.

And the strange thing is, he almost did.

But given the public setting he presently found himself in, he simply could not do that. Furthermore, would he to deliver a scream rivaling those coming from teenage girls rapidly descending a loop on a roller coaster, Alfred would only be proving Natalia's accusation. After all, what manly man screamed like a little girl? Not Alfred F. Jones, that's for sure. Anyhow, slapping himself would've been counterproductive as Natalia had already done the deed twice and given that he was the United States of America, he could end up with a dislocated jaw. Or toothless. Or something. He had never tried slapping himself, to be honest.

_But seriously_, Alfred asked himself getting back to the issue at hand, _what'd I do?_

What had he done to give Natalia that impression? Any woman would have caught on by now that she was being hit on, especially because she was on the receiving end of his dashing American charm. Alfred mentally tapped his chin: perhaps Natalia wrote off any interested men as gay? Maybe in an effort to dissuade them from their endeavor by saying they were of "homosexual orientation"? If that was the case... then Natalia would have to try extra hard.

Superman has Lois Lane, the Hulk has Betty Ross, and Cyclops has Jean Grey._ Dammit, if they managed to get their girls after many difficult trials, I can as well._

Then it hit him. Natalia's conniving look. The one he had caught sight of briefly. After his brain whirred back to life after suffering his initial shock and frantic attempt to explain Natalia's comment, his mind told him it was time to cover his head with a dunce cap.

_That little minx... _he narrowed his eyes, focusing on his crush standing with her arms crossed with only the security guard between them.

Alfred quickly looked away to regain his composure. He stood tall, smoothed out his jersey, and sent Natalia a wicked grin.

* * *

Natalia didn't know who looked more foolish: the American, whose glasses had dropped to the floor after suffering her patented Belarusian Slap, or the other American, who was presently wearing an o-face that oddly complimented his graying goatee. Regardless, she did not have the time to come to a conclusion between the two candidates: to her surprise, Jones had quickly recovered with a suspicious grin on his face.

"Like, she's totally right."

Natalia raised both eyebrows.

"I was upset because dat girl had me dress like dees!" Jones said indignantly as he pointed to the attire he was wearing. "Very unfashionable, nie?"

"I... uhhhh?" the security guard blinked confusedly.

"Anyhow, Mr. Policeman," Jones cut him off, "I seem to have, like, misplaced my glasses, but were I wearing them," the American swept aside his bangs with a flick of his wrist, "I am sure you would be handsome."

The officer slowly backed off, mouth agape.

"Like Brad Peet!"

Natalia shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in disbelief as she retook her bleacher seat. This idiot simply had too much time on his hands: otherwise, how could she explain Jones suddenly slipping into a Polish accent?

_Unbelievable_, she thought numbly.

"I lo~ve Angelina, you know? Such a good matka? That means 'modder'." He pointed out. "How does she do eet? A successful movie career and parenting so many leetle ones?" Jones sighed and peered into the outfield.

"Only in Ameryka, nie?"

The security guard quickly pulled at his collar so that his ear was touching the radio on his shoulder.

"I got a call about the hot dog stand downstairs," the man told them appearing relieved at the sudden interruption. "Don't do that again." His eyes peered to the left, than to the right, refusing to make eye contact with either of them, "I'm going to let you off with a warning, alright?"

Jones nodded. "Of course, Mr. Policeman-Peet! Much danks!"

The security guard took his leave and the American continued to wave him goodbye. Not the wave he usually gave where he moved his forearm to and fro casually, no. This wave actually resembled the one the northern half of Italy was prone to give that made him look like an imbecile. The departing guard gave the pair a last look of curiosity before disappearing into a tunnel.

Jones turned on his heel, placed a hand on her armrest and leaned in eyebrows high and Polish accent absent.

"Ha!"

With that, the American reached to the floor to retrieve his glasses and plopped down on his seat.

Natalia leered at Jones who was now rummaging through his Army knapsack. She hadn't expected Jones to recover from her remark so quickly and one-up her in return, but he had, and quite successfully. But the Belarusian was sure as hell not going to admit it to him, because by God, she would never hear the end of it. Plus, her brother would be disappointed to learn that she had lost out to the American, even if it was something as foolish as this.

The platinum-blonde huffed and turned her attention to the game. The inning had long ago started, and she was jarred to see that yet another man had taken the mound and that the bases were loaded. She had missed quite a lot of action for that to be the present game situation. All the men on base must have been walked, because the scoreboard showed no change in hits by the opposing team. Natalia had already seen a handful of pitchers and each had a different pitch he particularly relied on. It was fascinating trying to guess what pitch and what location the pitcher would throw the ball to try to outwit the batter. She figured the last pitcher hadn't been too creative with his pitches or must have been having an off day, because all the batters now on base were able to-

_"Hey!"_

Natalia flinched. Not at the suddenness of hearing the America's loud whisper so close to her ear, or that it suddenly smelled of bubblegum, but because his breath was warm on the shell of her ear.

Natalia reluctantly turned to face Jones. The sooner she did so, the Belarusian reasoned, the sooner she'd be able to return to not having to interact with the man. She maintained an expert poker face when she was met with the sight of the American wearing a giant, red foam finger on his right hand.

_"Who's number one?"_ Jones cupped his ear to wait for the response to what what she figured to be a rhetorical question, _"I'm number one!"_

That Jones was a fool had long been established. At the moment, however, he looked more ridiculous than usual sporting that over-sized red foam finger and his ketchup/mustard/relish/nacho cheese-stained white jersey (granted, she was surprised the American had managed to limit himself to five stains, one inexplicably near his armpit). Plus, there was his face: his left cheek had swollen from the two times she had slapped him and the area on his lip where she had bitten him was emitting a bright red color.

_"Who's number one?"_ Natalia was brought back from her thoughts when she felt the foam finger jab her shoulder. _"I'm number one!"_ Jones pulled the foam finger to point it at himself.

The Belarusian's brow twitched. _He does that _o_ne more time and I'll…_

"Heey~!"

_What now…_

Her eyes lazily followed the dotted line created by America's giant red index finger leading to the jumbotron.

"I didn't know we could order from our seats!"

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alfred was munching on a half-rack of BBQ ribs. He didn't know if Natalia liked dirtying her fingers to eat the glory that were these ribs, so he had ordered her a BBQ pulled pork sandwich instead.

"Hey," Alfred swallowed the food in his mouth, "you gonna eat that?"

"Help yourself." The woman answered keeping her eyes on the field.

"Nah!" Alfred laughed, "I was only asking when you were gonna get started!"

The woman stared down at her sandwich.

"Something wrong?"

"I…" Natalia began, her face making a cute expression, "don't even know what this is."

"Well, it's pulled pork with BBQ sauce between a sliced bun."

"I see."

"Try it!" Alfred smiled. "You'll like it!"

He kept up his encouraging smile until Natalia took a hesitant bite.

"That's the spirit!" Alfred flashed her a thumbs up as she was chewing.

As he watched the Belarusian continue eating (from the corner of his eye, of course), he turned his thoughts on something he had been wondering about for a few days after flipping through a women's magazine at the local grocery store: it is often said that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. _If that's true,_ Alfred pondered as he nibbled on a rib,_ I feel sorry for all the Englishwomen dating men of other nationalities_.

Anyhow, the point was that he held the reverse to be the same. Which is why Alfred had made plans to cook the Belarusian woman some good ol' American grub. Hell! He had already created a list of the stuff he was gonna make this weekend: fried chicken with corn bread and mashed potatoes, Philly cheesesteaks with a large side of Idaho potato wedges, Chicago deep-dish pizza, Boston clam chowder with crackers, Texas sirloin chili, southwestern breakfast burritos... he was gonna show Natalia Arlovskaya that there was more to America than fastfood burgers.

_Hells yeah, _he nodded in triumph and made a quick mental note to add "buffalo chicken sandwich" to the menu.

"Pardon me, Jones."

Alfred quickly swallowed the food in his mouth, both as a reaction to the woman addressing him and to the surprise it caused him being the addressee for a change.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I noticed you speak English quite well with a Polish accent. Why is that?"

"Uh...aheh." He smiled, hoping she would catch his drift.

"You spend time imitating others, I take it."

"Well," Alfred tugged his collar nervously, "when you put it that way..."

"That is very immature behavior."

"Awww... c'mon!" Alfred frowned, "Like you've never done it before yourself!"

The Belarusian remained impassive.

"Seriously?" He asked skeptically.

He blinked rapidly taking in her silence as acceptance.

"WOW." Alfred leaned back and placed his arm on his seat as he shifted to face her. "You've been missing out, my friend."

"I disagree."

"Oh yeah?" He lifted an eyebrow taking her reply as a challenge, "Watch this."

Alfred dived straight into his Nikita Khrushchev impression, complete with fist thumping, shouting, and arm flailing. Seeing as he did not have a pulpit to pound on, he used his thighs instead. Suffice it to say, Natalia was not impressed, nor were the fans who did not appreciate gameplay commentary coming in the form of a bombastic Russian accent.

"C'mon," Alfred deadpanned, "I had JFK _in stitches_ when I showed him it."

The Belarusian remained silent.

_Hmmm..._ he wondered, _perhaps I should've done someone who was not a Soviet premier. _

"Okay, how 'bout this. Ahem. Oy! Ye wanker! I see what you're doing there! Stop feeding the scones to the bloody dog! And what sort of game is this? The bowler here is called a "pitcher"? No, you dimwit, our cricket bat cannot double as a dominatrix paddle! What gave you that deranged idea, was it the frog? Was it?" Alfred paused, taking in Natalia's reaction. His eyes carefully scanned for movement of any sort on her face. If it weren't for his awesome vision, he wouldn't have caught her lip give a small quiver. His ego given a sudden boost, he took this as a sign of encouragement and switched over to Francis.

"Hon, hon, hon, my friend, I would like to point out that le glorieux France invented 'free love' long before your prudish population discovered it in the 60s."

More quivering.

Alfred slipped in and out of accents for the rest of the inning, cursing in Italian-accented English when an opposing player hit a double. Natalia looked away to clear her throat when he "ve~"d at each of the players crossing home plate. From his study of women's magazines, women apparently liked that a potential boyfriend have a good sense of humor. If that was true...he mentally pumped his fist. Alfred F. Jones had discovered what Natalia Arlovskaya found funny: impersonating others! He could practically hear Kool and the Gang's "Celebration" playing in his head.

_Oh man_, Alfred thought with glee, _doing Toris now will be the icing on the cake!_

* * *

Alas, poor Alfred. His mimic of the Lithuanian went so well that he managed to get a smile, albeit a small one, from the Belarusian. Perhaps he let the excitement of his success get to him, or her smile temporarily blind him because he soon found himself inexplicably dealing with a horrified Natalia.

Alfred was about to ask what was wrong when he heard an incredulous whisper:

"Toris has my name on his...?" The sentence was left to hang in the air, the speaker perhaps unable to bring herself to complete it.

Alfred, on the other hand, facepalmed.

* * *

A/N: Alas, poor Alfred. And it was going so well. Better luck next inning, no? XD

R&R ladies and gentlemen!


	10. Ninth Inning

A/N: Behold! The last inning is upon us. Will Alfred win over Natalia? Will he get smacked again? Is Toris safe? Or will they get interrupted again by another of Ivan's drunken phone calls? You will find out soon! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the final inning of _Freddy Ballgame_. Enjoy!

* * *

**Ninth Inning**

The loud clapping of the home fans signaling a well-handled inning coupled with the blood pounding in his ears creating a steady _thump-thump_ rhythm allowed Alfred no concentration. He rubbed his temple and focused a tired eye on the wide-eyed Belarusian beauty sitting two seats over to his right. That his quest to win Natalia's heart was not going well had already long been established: Alfred had somehow managed to find himself dealing with a semi-conscious Belarusian not once, but twice in the small time span that America's past-time required.

_Awww shit_, the American passed a hand over the back of his sweating neck and wiped the perspiration off on his long-sleeve shirt, _I'm so screwed._ He quickly had to choose between lying to Natalia or give her the reason behind Toris' ass tattoo because any second now, the dumbfounded Belarusian would come to and demand if what he had said was the truth. Alfred could say he had only over dramatized the Lithuanian's affection for Natalia in his awesome impression of the Baltic nation.

Alfred sighed and shook his head at his friend's poor decision. _Seriously, what kind of dude gets a friggin' tattoo on his ass?_

According to his sources, Toris hadn't been a shining example of sobriety when the event had transpired. His buddy had been drunk (and possibly under the influence of other intoxicants... you never knew with the lax laws of the Dutch) when he had gotten the tattoo done at some shady place in Amsterdam. Another story claimed that Toris had gotten it done by a dominatrix who was a part-time tattoo artist in Prague. Or that he had gotten in with the wrong crowd in Warsaw and somehow ended up with the tat. Regardless of the theory, they all ended with an inked needle pressed up against the Lithuanian's left buttock.

_Yeaaaaah_, Alfred thought with resignation when he noticed Natalia's eyes flutter (she had pretty eyes), _I'm gonna have to lie_.

Toris was gonna owe him one.

Well.

Toris didn't know that he knew about that tattoo.

_Wait a sec._ Alfred paused, _His left ass cheek? Whaaat._

* * *

_"Oh, there's another thing you might find interesting."_

_"Yeah?" Alfred responded less interested in what the man sitting opposite him had to say and more in scanning his burger in search for the perfect place to make his first bite. His eyes located a portion of the burger where the cheese (American, of course) had melted perfectly into the patty. Satisfied, he brought the greasy food to his mouth._

_As he was chewing, Alfred came to the conclusion that this meeting with Alejandro had been pointless. Sure, the guy had found out some useful information about Toris from the Lithuanian embassy, but nothing interesting. Nothing new at least. All the stuff the Mexican had dug up he already knew or simply reinforced some of his suspicions about Toris' crush on Natalia._

_"Si," Alejandro answered as he shook the bottle of hot sauce over his slice of pizza._

_Dammmmmmn, Alfred thought as he savored the beautiful combo attack the bacon, onion rings and BBQ sauce were unleashing upon his taste buds, I love food courts._

_"So?"_

_"So," Alejandro repeated, "I was at a conference last weekend-"_

_"The one about deforestation?"_

_"Si." The man paused to stroke his mustache patiently waiting for his neighbor to say anything else. Perhaps provide a reason for his absence at the conference, but when the American didn't, he continued. "The session broke for lunch. So, I went to the bathroom, you know, did my business. When I open my stall to exit, I see Toris right there at the urinal across me," Alejandro leaned in to lower his voice, wiggling his mustache, "Gilberto and Francisco come up behind him and you know what they do?"_

_"What?" Alfred lowered his half-burger, too caught up in the story to take a bite._

_"They, how do you say..." Alejandro said struggling to find the right word, "They 'pantsed' him."_

_"That so?" Alfred leaned back unimpressed and bit his burger. Who -hadn't- pantsed Toris at some point? Seriously, the guy needed to take his head out of Lala Land when he was taking a piss. Even Elizaveta had done it... though no one had asked what she was doing in the men's room to begin with. Not when she was carrying that frying pan around._

_"But that's not the interesting part." Alejandro said taking a bite out of his hot-sauced covered eggroll-on-a-stick._

_"Yeah?"_

_"He has a butt tattoo."_

_"Ha! No way!" Alfred grinned. "Seriously?"_

_"Seriously. Gilberto and Francisco ran off right away, so I doubt they noticed."_

_"Of what?"_

_"Eh?"_

_"What's the tattoo of?"_

_"'Наталия.'"_

_"Whoa, you know Russian?"_

_"Almost everyone learned Russian and English during the Cold War, Alfredo."_

* * *

"Oh yeah..." Alfred said to himself. That little flashback his brain had decided to play for him right there also reminded Alfred that he had to frame a signed Rita Hayworth poster for Alejandro. The dude had requested that as payment for his intel-gathering efforts. One would think that he'd want something more valuable and awesome like... a backyard roller coaster.

_ Fuck yeah,_ he grinned, _a backyard roller coaster. Alfred, you're a genius._

* * *

Natalia rapidly blinked, watering her dried eyes.

The buzz of the crowd, the heat of the night, and the announcer's voice echoing through the stadium reminded her of her present location.

"Fuck yeah," Jones cursed to her left, "a backyard roller coaster. Alfred, you're a genius."

Referring to himself in the third-person? Quite often a sign of a narcissist. No surprise there. Speaking of a backyard roller coaster? He certainly had the funds and credit line to foolishly spend it on any pet project that caught his fancy. Did Jones not realize the severity of her situation? Most likely not. If Jones' allegation turned out to be true, the world would be one country short before the week was out. As it was Lithuania, the Belarusian doubted anyone would notice right away.

"Is it true?" Natalia demanded sharply, the murderous intent lacing her voice aiming to bring the American back to Earth, "Is it?"

Jones flinched. He cocked his head and stared at her for a while as if analyzing her features. Just as Natalia was about to smack him again for lack of manners, (had the Englishman not taught his ward that staring was impolite?) she was answered with a simple "nah".

"I was just kidding," Jones explained, picking up his soda to slurp the melted ice, "and don't frown so much. You don't wanna wrinkle that rockin' face of yours, do 'ya?"

Natalia blinked and pulled back quietly. She didn't know what he had meant by "rockin'", but she had gotten a fair idea by the wink the American had included along with his statement.

Yes, everyone knew Jones was an idiot. The times she had seen him serious were far and few in between. The time Natalia had stayed with the American following the break up of the Soviet Union she had rarely seen him- Jones had been with his boss trying to figure out to what extent the breakup of the USSR would affect world politics and what it would mean to the United States, now the lone superpower in the world.

Jones could be a decent man when he wanted to be, as evidenced by the fact that he kept sending her DVDs out of the blue. Having been a country that had gone through extended difficult economic situations in the past, she knew, as did many, that nothing in life was free. Which is why she found it strange that after years of receiving movies and television shows, the American had yet to demand payment or a favor in return for the respectable film library she now possessed in her home in Minsk.

"What?" Jones grinned, "You disappointed Toris doesn't have the tat on his tooshie?"

Jones was a crude, uncouth, annoying and arrogant individual. It was baffling really: Kirkland had expressed and maintained gentlemanly behavior (in Europe) when the British Empire had existed. The United States had no such empire, not formally at least, but its influence in the word was great. Is it not reasonable to expect that the lone superpower in the world be a bit more mature and serious?

It was often the case that the American would sleep through entire debates: in one conference, Jones had remarked that the other countries present already knew his position on the topic from deciding whether to oppose or support the American stance. Then, there would be times that Jones would do a complete 360, such as the time he had bought the largest pizza available in New York, set it dead center on the conference table with ease, and told the room to "take a break and dig in". Even today, Natalia was at a loss in deciding what had been more shocking: that the pizza toppings had been arranged to form a mosaic of George Washington's face, or that Jones had been considerate enough to make sure a quarter of the gigantic pie was vegetarian. And in between all this, Jones somehow managed to find the time to practice his impersonations of other countries.

"Of course not," Natalia finally answered with no expression on her face. She looked away and stared at the baseball diamond, observing members of the away team taking their place on the field. "You are very childish. Did you know that?" The woman continued in a calm tone still not looking at the man. "One would expect that you, knowing your position in world affairs, would act more mature. But as Brother is correct in saying: 'expect nothing of the Americans'."

* * *

The half-inning went by before Alfred knew it. He warily observed the home team come to bat in an attempt to salvage the game. They would have to score five runs to tie the game and another to win it, but seeing as it was the bottom of the lineup coming to bat and they only had three outs to work with, chances are the game was lost.

But who won or who lost the game was irrelevant to him at this point. Alfred was long used to not fulfilling the expectations of others, but knowing that he had failed Natalia, by acting childish no less... had he gone overboard today? No, she had meant her comment to be more of a blanket statement than as a comment about their outing. Little wonder why Natalia found him to be insufferable.

Alfred slouched in his chair. He had dug himself into a hole so deep, he didn't know how far he would have to climb to get himself out of it. It was only his first "date" with Natalia and she already hated him. Of course, she hadn't said that exactly, but she might as well have.

Alfred sighed. He took his glasses off with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. It seemed that the more interaction he had with her, the more she seemed to dislike him. His original plan had entailed that Natalia and he become friendly before he asked her out. Considering the severity of the situation, Alfred would have to scrap the plan and employ the "Kiku Maneuver": an outright confession.

The characters in Kiku's shows seemed to have no problem doing so. The idea of asking her point-blank and setting himself up to be shot down didn't set well with Alfred. But then, at least he'd know where he stood with her and there would be no more beating around the bush.

_Alright. _Alfred thought as a ball was pelted into the outfield, _Here goes nothing._

* * *

Natalia was just getting accustomed to the peaceful lack of the American's voice when she heard him call out to her. She contemplated ignoring him, but quickly decided to give him her attention: only three more outs and the game would end and she'd be a free woman. For the night at least: Natalia would have to deal with the American the next day and the day after.

"Hey! Check this out," the American rolled up the long sleeve of his red undershirt as far as it could go to expose his arm to Natalia. She raised an eyebrow, puzzled as to what crazy thing the American would do next.

Jones reached into his pocket to retrieve a ball point pen, uncapped it with his teeth and then wrote "NATALIA" on his bicep all in one swift motion.

"Check it out," Jones repeated this time with a grin as he repeatedly flexed his bicep. "My heart beats for you."

A blush creeped up on her cheeks.

There was no way the American would do such a thing. No way.

_Jones... he hadn't- he hadn't just... had he? No. NO._

He was only acting like an imbecile. _Yes, that has to be it, _Natalia concluded, wondering why her face had gotten warm all of a sudden. The American was just being what he was: an American.

The poor fool couldn't help it.

"I would appreciate it if you were to remove my name," Natalia said with a difficulty that surprised herself.

"Huh? Oh. Sure." Jones gave her a hurt look, "Do you have hand sanitizer or something?"

Natalia shook her head, still not making eye contact.

"Oh," the American looked down, "Okay. Uhh... I'll just use my spit then."

The Belarusian eyes widened, "Excuse me?" She squawked as her eyes tracked his mouth aiming in the direction of her name.

"Huh?"

"My name will not be removed with your saliva!" She voiced indignantly, but in a whisper- there was no need to inform their section about what was occurring.

Jones frowned. "Well then, how d'ya suggest it come off? I haven't exactly got the help of Artie's magic fairy friends to make it go away."

Was he being smart with her?

"Just," She began, keeping her cool, "Just leave it alone for the time being."

Jones shrugged. "You're the boss."

That settled, Natalia gazed up at the scoreboard and saw the home team would have some catching up to do if they wanted to be the victors. Given that it was the last inning, the chances of that were small, especially because the visiting team had brought in yet another pitcher, this one being the "closer" to her understanding.

* * *

She hadn't said anything. No response.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Sure, Alfred had confessed in his own way, but any doofus would be able to tell what he had just done... right? Natalia hadn't rejected him. Nor had she accepted.

Alfred groaned. Should he have just said: "For the last few years, I've been crushing on you. So much so that I employed my annoying southern neighbor to do some espionage on... nevermind that. The point is, I like you. So, please go out with me."

….

…

..

_ … Blegh. _Alfred thought, _That sounded terrible_.

The groans in the stands indicated the closer had swiftly gotten rid of the first batter on a pop-up to right field. Two more outs and the game would be over. The visiting team's closer was one of the best in the game, so Alfred expected the game to be over within the next ten minutes or so. Heck, the hometeam fans knew this to be true and had started filing out of their rows and out of their sections to leave the stadium.

Alfred knew he had to clear things up before they joined the crowd to leave the venue. He had a suspicion that once they got back home, Natalia would lock herself up in her guest room for the remainder of the weekend all because he had weirded her out with his antics. But... who's to say the same would not happen if he told her that he liked her? Well... at least then she'd know he wasn't kidding around.

Alfred ran a hand down his cheek (a tad bit too hard, causing him to flinch when his hand touched the Natalia-incured bruises on his face) and let let out a sigh in resignation.

One hand over his eye, he watched as the third out was delivered. There were no cheers, as the visiting team had trounced the home team. He let his hand fall and spotted Natalia quickly gathering her things and kicking the trash over to his side to form a small barrier between them.

_It's like_ s_he's building an Iron Curtain of trash... _

"Hurry, Jones," Natalia said from her full height not meeting his eyes as she shifted the strap on her tote to a more comfortable position.

Alfred nodded and picked up his army satchel without bothering to close it.

"Okay, but there's something I have to tell you first."

* * *

Natalia had a notion what it was the American wanted to say. The thought of it discomforted her, if her burning ears and sudden elevated temperature were anything to go by.

Jones rose up from his chair and stood tall, chest out. He wasn't as tall as her brother was, but he was still some way up. The American pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as his forehead wrinkling with determined purpose.

"I like you."

Natalia blinked.

"When I say that, I don't mean it in the friendly sense. I mean it in the sense that I am... uhhhh... smitten with you."

The American paused for a bit to look into the field where the teams were congratulating one another on a good game. Alfred tried to be confident, but it was easier said than done. After all, he was finally confessing after almost ten years of crushing on her.

Inspired by the scene, he turned back to Natalia and continued, "I've liked you for, for a long time now. You're probably thinking that you barely know me, but to that I say: you know a part of me that know one else does."

Seeing the confusion in Natalia's eyes, he quickly scurried to provide an explanation. He was on a roll- it was no time to be screwing it up. "I mean the movies! The movies and tv shows I've been sending you? I read in a Cosmo that you can tell a lot by the kinds of movies a man likes, so I sent you the ones I liked."

Natalia suddenly understood.

Why Alfred F. Jones had been making a fool of himself in her presence: it partly had to do with being the idiot that he was, but the rest was accounted for his bright idea of following relationship advice detailed in a magazine targeted at American women. Natalia knew what Cosmo was: every grocery seemed to be stocked with it in Europe and because Jones spent a lot of time in the checkout line at his local supermarket what with the amount the man ate, of course he probably flipped through it while the cashier swiped his countless items.

Natalia sighed and shook her head: the American had surprised her and discovered a new level stupidity previously unknown to man. Every _Star Wars_ film, every episode of _Looney Tunes_, every box set collection of Chaplin and _The Three Stooges_, multiple seasons of _Battlestar Galactica_ and _The X-Files_ that she had received in the mail suddenly made sense. She didn't know whether to be furious that the American's motive in sending her free entertainment was to get closer to her, or to snigger at Jones' belief that thousands of hours of movies and television shows was going to help to gain an understanding of the man that was Alfred F. Jones.

She didn't stay angry for long. Natalia was well aware that she could have thrown the movies out when she couldn't figure out why the American was sending her the free packages. And she hadn't.

"You don't have to give me an answer now," Jones ran his hand through his hair, "Uh... just give me one before you go back... back to Minsk, alright?" The American scratched his forehead lightly, as if contemplating whether to add more. "I... I'd be cool with going out secretly. I-if that's what you want."

Natalia observed the American, standing tall, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and fists clenched as if bracing himself for her response, whatever it may be.

"First," she began, "we must purchase hand sanitizer."

* * *

A/N: It was a pleasure writing this AmeBela fic. I started _Freddy Ballgame_ because I felt there wasn't sufficient material written on this pairing, so I decided to write my own. It's been a year since then and there have been more stories added to this awesome pairing, which is great! :-D The number is still small enough that I can safely say that I've read most of them, even if I haven't left behind a review :-P . Well, I hope you enjoyed the ride. I know I did!

Cheers,

Nitrolead


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